Love and Death III
by Marcus Rowland
Summary: Short Buffyverse crossovers involving death and relationships. Warning: multiple character deaths, some references to ff relationships.


**Love and Death III**

_By Marcus L. Rowland_

More short Btvs and Angel crossovers, written for various games on the Twisting the Hellmouth forums. I thought that some of them deserved a wider audience. Non-Crossovers, and stories that don't involve the Buffyverse, have been posted separately. Some of these stories were written for death games, others for games in which relationships were destroyed. 

All characters belong to their respective creators; this story may not be distributed on a profit-making basis. _**Warning - Most of these stories involve character death.**_

* * *

Fairly obvious film crossover for the death game. 

**Side Effect**

"It's perfect!" Dawn said enthusiastically. "Willow just cast the spell, and the Hellmouth slammed closed like it was never there." 

In Rome Buffy frowned and said "It sounds too good to be true, but if you're sure...?" 

"I'm gonna stay on in Cleveland until the end of the month, just to keep an eye on things, but it looks like we can pull out most of the Slayers." 

"I hope you're right," said Buffy, "but I've just got a bad feeling... Willow must have used a huge amount of power to cast the spell, what about that thauma... thauma..." 

"Thaumagenisis?" asked Dawn. 

"Yeah, that," said Buffy. "Remember that creepy thing that tried to kill us after Willow brought me back to life?" 

"Nothing like that here," said Dawn, "but we'll... Oh crap." 

"Oh crap what?" asked Buffy. 

"You were right," said Dawn. "I guess it took a while to form, but it's here. Buffy, I don't think..." There was a sudden roar, like a thousand blowtorches, and an electronic squeal from the phone. The line went dead. Buffy felt an odd sensation, and somehow knew that Dawn was dead. 

"Buffy!" shouted Andrew, "Come here!" He went into her room and found her sitting weeping. Behind him, ignored for the moment, CNN showed Godzilla destroying Cleveland. 

**End.**

* * *

Dr. Who crossover for the pairings game. 

**Intense**

"What do you mean, it's over?" asked Gunn. "Yesterday..." 

"Was yesterday for you," said Fred. "It's been about two years for me." 

"Huh?" 

"Time travel," said Fred. "I met a guy when I went for tacos last night, he saw the physics paper I was reading and said he could show me a stable extra-dimensional enclave, and one thing led to another. Before I knew it I was fifty thousand years in the future with the Doctor fighting aliens, and well, it got kinda intense..." 

"Intense," Gunn said flatly. 

"You know how it goes," said Fred. "Things get dangerous, you kinda cling to someone, and... well, one thing led to another." 

"So you're screwing this Doctor?" 

"Don't be such a... a guy," said Fred. "First of all, the Doctor isn't even human, and second I'm not screwing him. I kinda fell for his assistant." 

A woman wearing a leather costume, somewhere between a mini-skirt and a bikini, with a knife on her belt, came into the lobby and said "Fred? The Doctor is ready to leave." 

"Okay. Um... Gunn, I guess this is goodbye, at least for now. I'm sorry to end it like this, but we're kinda married now. I really only stopped by to pick up some books and clothes." 

"You and.. her?" 

"I am Leela," said the stranger, "of the Sevateen." 

"Okaaay. Didn't know you swung that way." 

"Things happen, Charles." 

"I guess." 

Fred picked up her bag and went outside with Leela, leaving Gunn sitting in the lobby staring at his feet. Outside there was a strange groaning roar, diminishing into some unimaginable distance. 

_End._

* * *

Angel / Smallville, at the beginning of Smallville S1 then VERY AU, for the death game. 

**Devious Powers**

"Okay, kid," said Cordelia. "You're convinced?" 

"I guess," said Clark, staring at Angel and trying to understand how he could live without a beating heart. 

"So as I said," said Cordelia, "the vision I got was pretty clear. There's a dozen schoolkids gonna be attacked by some kinda slime demon in Metropolis tomorrow afternoon, in the plaza by the Daily Planet building. Angel can't be there to take it, not in the daytime, and no ordinary human stands much of a chance. But you're not so ordinary, are you? Not with the speed and the strength." 

"But..." 

"Oh, you can deny it all you like," said Angel. "We really don't care. If you don't help them nobody else stands much of a chance." 

"Ummm..." 

"Trust me," said Cordelia. "If you can help but don't you'll always regret it. If you do... well, the Powers think highly enough of you to send us all the way from LA to talk to you. My guess is they think you're going to be one of their champions. A hero." 

"I'll... I'll think about it... maybe I'll be there," said Clark. 

"Hope you will," said Cordelia, "because I'll be there trying to save them on my own if you don't. Want some more coffee?" 

"Thanks, but I'd better head home." 

"And we need to head for Metropolis," said Angel. "We'll try to work out a backup plan, but it's going to be tough without your help. Hope we'll see you there." 

. . . . .

"Wow," said Cordelia, as she and Clark walked away from the plaza and ducked into a dark alley before the police could arrive. "That was amazing. I knew you were fast but..." 

"I guess," said Clark. "That was pretty gross, but at least none of the kids were hurt. But I thought it was going to be a lot tougher." 

"Maybe not for you, kid," said Angel, from the shelter of a darkened hallway, "but Cordelia couldn't have taken it on her own." 

"What happens now?" asked Clark. 

"Angel can hang here and brood until nightfall," said Cordelia, "we'll go get a soda or something." 

"Sounds good to me," said Clark. 

. . . . .

"D'you think he bought it?" Cordelia asked when they were half-way back to LA. 

"We're not lying," said Angel. "Just... bending the truth a little. Snurg demons aren't that tough, they look pretty gross but you could have taken it out easily enough if he hadn't shown." 

"So why did we need the kid?" 

"Damned if I know. All I know is, Whistler was crystal clear. He had to be well away from Smallville this afternoon." 

"I wonder why..." mused Cordelia. 

. . . . .

In Smallville two hours passed before Lex Luthor was missed, four before the wreckage of his car was found, seven before divers brought up his body. Clark didn't hear about it until he got home. He never realised why Lex had died. 

**End.**

* * *

This one's a sequel to _Damaged in Transit_, in **Love and Death II** and like it is a Harry Potter / Angel crossover, also from one of the death games. 

**Quarantine Zone**

"There's something weird going on," said Fred, dashing into the shop from the Alley and knocking over a display of Skiving Snack-Boxes. "The Ministry's just closed down the Leaky Cauldron, the whole building's quarantined." 

"So nobody can get out of Diagon Alley?" asked Ron. 

"Not through the Cauldron," said George, helping Fred to tidy the mess, "but you can always apparate." 

"I can't," said Ron, "I'm not licensed yet. What about the Floo network?" 

"Whole area's shut down," said Fred. "Too much risk of someone ending up in the Cauldron by mistake." 

"What the hell happened?" asked Harry, leafing through the packets of stick-on warts and trying to find one that would suit Ginny. "And how are we going to get to school tomorrow?" 

"They'll have to arrange something," said Ron, shrugging. "There must be forty or fifty under-age wizards here today, and we're all in the same boat." 

"What about our luggage?" asked Ron. "My trunk's still in the Cauldron." 

"So's mine," said Harry. "Not to mention Hedwig. Any idea why we're locked out?" 

"There's a rumour that something's wrong with Malfoy," said Neville, coming in from the street. "Turned bright blue or something, they're afraid it might be contagious." 

"Blue?" said Ron. "Anyone got a photo?" Nobody had. 

"Bet Rita Skeeter's already after one," said Harry. "Hope she turns blue too." 

"You know," Ron said reflectively, "A picture would be worth good money, if we could beat bloody Skeeter to it." 

"Don't be a pillock," said Harry. "You might end up turning blue too." 

"Hang about," said Ron, "I think I know what room Draco's in, and the window faces onto the Alley, not Charing Cross Road. If we could borrow a camera and get up to it..." 

"How?" asked Fred. 

"Broom, of course," said Harry. "That's not a bad idea. He wouldn't be going high enough to get into trouble with the Ministry, Muggles wouldn't see him." 

"There's a camera here somewhere," said Fred (or possibly George), rummaging under the counter and pulling out an ancient Box Brownie. It morphed into a bowl of petunias. "Sorry, not that one..." Eventually he found a leather and brass Spelltex camera under the counter and handed it to Ron. "Think there's some film... yes, you've got ten or twelve left. The lens works like an omniscope, press here to take the picture, it'll wind on automatically. And if you break it you're paying for it." 

"I've got my old Cleansweep 95 out back," said George. "Watch out, it's a bit wobbly at altitude." 

"I'm only going up twenty feet," Ron said crossly. 

Eventually Harry, Ron, and Neville set out for the Cauldron. "It'll have to be me that takes the picture," said Ron, "You don't know which room he's in." 

"You could tell us," said Harry. 

"And miss embarassing Malfoy? Not bloody likely. Besides, I need the money." 

"Fair enough," said Neville. "It's have to be you or Harry anyway, I'm not up to taking pictures from a wobbly broomstick. But get some decent photos." 

"Count on it," said Ron, leaping onto the broom and rising towards the third floor. He aimed the camera at one of the windows; there was a brilliant flash, then another. At the third flask the window shattered, showering shards of glass onto the pavement. Harry and Neville ducked for cover, some of the other witches and wizards below didn't get clear in time. There was a figure at the window... Draco, but a Draco with blue hair and skin, wearing skin-tight leathers. He glared at Ron, who took another picture. 

"What the hell happened to Draco?" said Harry. 

"I don't..." Overhead Draco leapt nearly twenty feet from the window, landing on the broom behind Ron. Before anyone could react Ron was on the ground and the broom was a blur in the distance, heading West across the rooftops of London at impossible speed. There was a distant rumble, which Harry vaguely realised was a sonic boom. 

Neville was crouched by Ron, looking increasingly frantic. "What's wrong?" asked Harry. 

"I think his neck's broken," said Neville. 

"Can't be," said Harry, "Six years fighting Voldemort and..." he trailed off as he realised that Neville was right. A medi-witch came out of the inn and examined Ron, but there was nothing she could do. 

. . . . .

"It was not Malfoy," said Dumbledore. "It was Illyria." 

"Illyria?" said Harry. "What the hell does that mean?" 

"A god, a being of immense power. One that should have died aeons ago. Somehow it infected young Malfoy, destroyed him, and took his form. It was... willing to negotiate with us, I think, but Ron must have startled it." 

"Where did it go?" Fred asked grimly. 

"Who knows?" said Dumbledore. "Towards America, we think, but where beyond that..." 

"Did Voldemort do it?" asked Harry. 

"He would be insane to release a being of such power," said Dumbledore, "but then Voldemort _is_ insane. It's possible, though I doubt it." 

"What can we do?" asked George. 

"Nothing," said Dumbledore. "It will do whatever it wills, regardless of our desires. It is as far beyond our comprehension as we are beyond that of an ant. All we can do is hope that it considers us irrelevant to its plans." 

"Can't we..." began Harry. 

"No," Dumbledore said quietly. "I fear that one day you will face Voldemort. There is certainly no need for you to face Illyria. And its return may give Voldemort some pause for thought. You will do nothing, the American Ministry will look after the situation." 

"But..." 

"No buts," said Dumbledore. "Now pack, the train leaves at the usual time." 

Harry nodded reluctantly and went up to his room, leaving Dumbledore talking quietly to the Weasleys. Silently he swore that one day Ron's death would be avenged. 

**End**

* * *

Crossover with John Carpenter's _Innocent Blood_, some spoilers for the film. Character death. 

**Slayer Blood**

Kennedy looked out across the roof-tops of Pittsburgh, watching the snow gleam on moonlit roofs, and wondered where she'd gone wrong. Rich? Check. Kick-ass Slayer? Check. Happy? Not so much... 

It wasn't really anyone's fault that she and Willow had drifted apart. If there was anyone to blame, it was the shade of the late Tara of sainted memory. Nobody else could really fit on that pedestal, and both of them began to notice their incompatibilities once they were out of the pressure-cooker environment of Sunnydale. Rio had been fun for a few months, but Kennedy wasn't really into Wicca or the Mystic Shit lifestyle, while Willow was uncomfortable with Kennedy's wealth, family, and dominant personality. Eventually they'd mutually agreed that it just wasn't going to be a good long-term relationship, and decided to separate while they were still friends. Last Kennedy heard, Willow was hanging out with the Smurf-god from LA, and Giles and Andrew were working on contingency plans to cope with any attempts to rule and/or destroy the world. 

The trouble was that neither of them particularly wanted to see each other right now, and Willow was the only powerful Wicca working for the new improved (yeah, right) Watcher's Council, which meant that she was involved in anything that went down at most of the major hot-spots; Cleveland, LA, Paris, and a couple of dozen other places around the world. Kennedy was going back to college after Christmas, but until then she was working the fringes, the places that didn't quite merit the Hellmouth treatment but needed an occasional visit from a Slayer to thin the demonic herds. Which took her back to Pittsburgh, the ass-end of the universe. And... And screw it. She wasn't in the mood for a pity party, she'd go out and do something more active, maybe kick some demonic ass. 

Nobody was quite sure what was happening in Pittsburgh, but over the last five years or so there was a pattern of violent mob deaths, the victims found with shotgun wounds to the neck, always taking out the spine, and a lot less blood than should be in any normal corpse. It was a pattern that spelled "vampire concealing its attacks" to the Council, though the selection of victims seemed odd. Almost as though the vamp had a conscience, or a soul, but Spike and Angel were both dead, at least according to Smurfette, so it didn't seem likely. Whatever, she was hoping that someone else would be killed sooner or later, and she'd get in on the action soon enough to pick up a few clues. For the last few nights she'd cruised the streets in a hired Jeep Cherokee, hitting the bars and looking for signs of demon activity. So far she hadn't got lucky. 

She decided to stop at a Starbucks and get a coffee. As she sat in the Jeep drinking it she noticed a woman standing on a street corner, apparently waiting for someone. She was a gorgeous brunette and Kennedy wondered if there was any chance that she was gay. She had a couple of shopping bags and a bored expression, but something was making Kennedy's senses tingle. Eventually she spotted it. As everyone else that passed breathed they exhaled little puffs of vapour, this girl didn't. To Kennedy that spelled vampire with a capital V. She was watching something... an Italian restaurant across the street. The mobs in the current war were Italian. Two and two were starting to make four. 

Kennedy finished her drink, got out of the Jeep and strolled towards the woman, pretending to be looking for something in her pockets, and said "Got a light?" 

"I'm sorry," she said with a charming French accent, "I don't smoke." 

"I don't know," said Kennedy. "You look pretty hot to me." 

"Is this a pick-up?" she asked, amusement in her voice. 

"If you want it to be," said Kennedy, looking past the woman to a dark shop window. She was reflected, Frenchy wasn't. 

"I don't think so," said the girl. "But thanks for the offer." 

"Too bad," said Kennedy, pulling a stake from her pocket and slamming it towards the vampire's heart. Except that she wasn't there anymore, somehow she side-stepped the attack. She still had an amused look, but her eyes showed a feral gleam. 

"You're fast," said Kennedy, swinging around to take her, "but I'm a Slayer." She tried to stake her again, and again somehow missed. The bitch was fast, faster than any vamp she'd ever seen, and barely seemed to move as she side-stepped the attacks. 

"What are you?" grunted Kennedy, circling to try again. 

"Don't you know?" asked the woman, backing into an alley. 

"You're too fast to be a vampire." 

"Really?" She grinned, and for a moment Kennedy wanted to call off the fight and make a serious pass at her. "Maybe there's more than one type of vampire." She seemed to vanish, and by instinct Kennedy looked up to see her twenty feet above her, clinging to the wall. She pulled the miniature crossbow from her shoulder bag and took a shot. The vampire snatched the bolt from the air and seemed to examine it, curiosity in her eyes, then plummetted down towards Kennedy, somehow swerving as she fell to land behind her. Before Kennedy could react she was held in an iron grasp, with the vampire's arm around her neck, choking her. 

"You could still walk away from this," said the vampire, her lips an inch from Kennedy's ear. "I don't hurt the innocent." 

"Bitch!" said Kennedy, smashing her head back into the vampire's face. It was like hitting a block of wood. 

"Too bad," said the vampire. Eyes glowing, she plunged sharp fangs into Kennedy's neck and dragged her back into the shadows as she tore at her throat. Soon she was drenched in the Slayer's blood, and drunk on the taste of her power. She slung the body over her shoulder and ran effortlessly up the wall with it, then went back down for her bags. Back on the roof she cleaned herself up, put on a change of clothes, and stared at Kennedy's body. She was tempted... but no, she'd sworn never to create another vampire, not even as a lover. With regret she pulled out a sawn-off shotgun and fired at Kennedy's neck, obliterating the tell-tale bite marks and severing her spine. Whatever it was that made her bite infectious couldn't work now. By the time lights came on in neighbouring bedrooms she was gone, leaving the body on the roof. 

By dawn she was in bed. As she fell asleep she sleepily wondered what a Slayer was, why her blood tasted so good, and why she'd thought she could take on a vampire. One thing was certain; blood that powerful would hold off the thirst for several days, and give her time to find another mobster to kill. And next time she wouldn't let anyone else get in her way... 

**End**


End file.
